that surrounded the lodge. The chore was his idea, not hers. Since there wasn’t enough tin for him to finish repairing the roof, he’d suggested trimming the tree limbs that grew over the lodge, which he claimed were responsible for most of the damage done to the roof. Once they started trimming, he’d insisted upon removing the dead limbs, as well, since, according to Luke, they posed a threat to anything and anyone below if they were to fall during a windstorm.
As she worked alongside him, dragging away the limbs he cut, she noticed that he kept his hat down and his face averted. It was no easy task, considering he was manning the pole chainsaw and had to keep his gaze on the tree overhead while cutting down limbs. Lauren had tried to ignore the awkwardness of his position, but after several hours of watching him, she totally lost her patience.
Dropping the limb she held, she snatched off his hat. “Enough is enough!” she cried angrily. “I know your face is scarred, so there’s no point in trying to hide it from me any longer.”
He clamped his jaw down and snatched his hat from her hand. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. Just trying to protect you, was all.”
She tossed up her hands. “From what? I’ve seen cases of acne that were worse than the scars on your face.”
He dropped his gaze and touched a hand to his cheek, as if to be sure the scars were still there. “Most folks find it hard to look at me.”
“Well, I don’t, and I would appreciate it if you’d look me in the eye when you speak to me, instead of ducking your head.”
A muscle ticked on his jaw. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re not looking at me, you’re looking at the ground.”
He lifted his head and narrowed an eye at her. “Is that better?”
She jutted her chin. “Yes.”
“Can we get back to work now, Ms. Tanner?”
“Don’t call me Ms. Tanner. My name is Lauren.”
He settled his hat over his head again, though this time in a more natural and comfortable position. “Yes, ma’am…Lauren.”
He put enough bite in her name to let her know that he might be willing to follow her orders, but that didn’t mean he liked them. Deciding she’d pushed him far enough for one day, she picked up the limb she’d dropped and dragged it toward the brush pile, her nose in the air.
“Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get back to work.”
Luke dipped the scoop into the feed bucket and measured out oats. He’d put in a solid five hours at the lodge, driven back to the Bar-T and put in six more, gathering steers and heading them to a new pasture. He was dead tired, but his mind was running like a colt fresh out of a stall.
He didn’t know what to make of his new boss. First off, she was a Tanner, which meant she had to be rich as sin. Yet he hadn’t seen any evidence of an extravagant lifestyle. No fancy clothes. No flashy jewelry. Even the car she drove wasn’t what he’d expect to find a woman of her caliber driving. Although fairly new, the vehicle was modest at best…and totally unsuitable for where she currently lived. In his opinion, a person who lived in the country needed a truck or, at the very least, an SUV. Something tough enough to navigate rough terrain, and with enough storage capacity to haul whatever needed hauling.
And her current living conditions sure as hell weren’t the Hilton. She and the woman who worked for her were all but camping out at the lodge and one of the cabins, having carved out living space for themselves amid the mess that went along with remodeling and construction. From what he could tell, the older woman took care of the household chores, while Lauren handled whatever grunt work needed doing. She worked right alongside Luke, doing chores better suited for a man, when she could just as easily have sat on the porch in the shade painting her nails and shouting out orders.
But the thing that confounded him most about the woman was her reaction to seeing his face. He’d known that she’d gotten a fairly good look at him the day before in the barn, when he’d lost his hat while killing the rattler. But the lighting was dimmer in the barn and he figured—based on the fact that she hadn’t screamed or covered her eyes—that she hadn’t seen how badly he was scarred. He might’ve gone on believing that, if she hadn’t snatched off his hat this morning in full daylight and looked him square in the face, without flinching so much as a muscle. In fact, the only emotion she’d displayed was anger. That I’ve-had-all-of-this-I’m-gonna-take kind of anger that let a man know when a woman had reached the end of her rope.
Giving his head a shake, he dumped the oats into the trough and moved down the alleyway to the next stall. And that’s what he couldn’t figure. Why was she so hell-bent on him exposing his face? And why hadn’t she cringed when she’d seen it? Hell, he was no fool. He hadn’t been much to look at before the fire, and the scars it had left him with sure hadn’t improved his appearance any. Ry Tanner might be a gifted plastic surgeon, but he was no magician. He couldn’t put back what wasn’t there in the first place.
Lauren, on the other hand, was a feast for the eyes. She had the same coal-black hair as the Tanner brothers, and the same deep-blue eyes. But all similarity to her cousins stopped there. She had a figure that made a man look twice, and a way of moving that made one stop and stare. Long-legged and slim-hipped, she walked with a purpose, chin up, arms swinging at her sides. And when she was studying something, a crease formed between her eyes and her lips puckered slightly.
He dumped the second measure of oats into the trough and released a lusty sigh. Those lips. Full, almost puffy looking and stained a natural rose. Beestung lips, his mother would’ve called them. Kissable was what he would call them.
He heaved another sigh, this one full of resignation, and strode to the next stall. Whether Lauren’s lips were kissable or not, he’d never know. Even before the fire, a lady like her would’ve been out of his reach. She was a Tanner and he was…well, he was Luke Jordan, second son of a rodeo bum and short-order cook. He didn’t have a pedigree, or any kind of degree, for that matter. He’d dropped out of high school in the eleventh grade and started cowboying full-time for any rancher who was willing to offer him a decent wage and a bunkhouse to sleep in.
No, he’d never know if Lauren’s lips were kissable. Not firsthand, at any rate. Hell, she was so far out of his reach, he’d need a ladder to touch her toes.
A whine had him angling his head toward the feed room door.
With a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, he set the bucket down and moved to unlatch the door.
“Hey, buddy,” he said and dropped to a knee to give the dog’s ears an affectionate rub. “How’re you feelin’ today?”
In response, the dog licked his hand.
His smile widening, Luke pushed to his feet. “Bet you’d like to stretch your legs a bit, after being cooped up so long, wouldn’t you?” He patted a hand against his thigh, signaling the dog to follow him. “Come on, then. You can help me feed the horses.”
The dog limped along behind him, pausing each time he stopped to measure oats into a trough before moving on to the next stall. When they reached the last one, Luke hooked the feed bucket over a nail, then returned to the feed room. “Come on, buddy,” he said, holding the door open. “It’s time for me to head for the bunkhouse.”
The dog sank down on his haunches
